Sleepless
by MetalWolfMelody
Summary: Wilson comes home from work, just as tired as usual, wishing for nothing more than a full night of sleep. When he finally reaches his bedroom, he's faced with a surprise visitor, and an even more surprising display of vulnerability from the person he least expects, leading to a long and sleepless night of strained friendship.


**This is intended to be a short friendship one-shot between House and Wilson. (Set in early Season 4)**

Wilson walked in through the front door of his apartment, wiping his shoes on the front mat methodically, then slid them off to sit where they would await him in the morning. With a sigh of exhaustion he dropped his briefcase on the coffee table, reaching to turn on the lamp as he rubbed his sleep-filled eyes. Only then was he stunned awake enough to survey his living room and kitchen, for the lamp that he had reached for was already on.

Upon further inspection, the light in the kitchen was on as well, a half-finished glass of water sitting on the table serving as further proof that Wilson wasn't alone in his apartment. Of course, he had no feeling of alarm, as the door had been locked when he had arrived home, and the circular scuff marks on the floor were indicative of only one soul.

Without so much as bothering to search the place up and down for his friend, Wilson pulled off his tie and draped it over the coat tree, then unbuttoned his shirt and hung up his jacket in the hall closet. Wherever House was, if he was even still there, could wait. Wilson had had a long day at work, longer than most, and the last thing he needed to do was bother with that bastard when all he desired was to sleep. He dumped the glass of water into the sink, and grabbed a quick drink of his own, before walking to the bedroom.

His feet made no sound on the hardwood flooring, and he was gentle as he opened the door to his bedroom, in the case that the sinking feeling in his gut was right. And just before he reached to flick on the light, as habitually as usual, he paused. Through the dim light he saw a shape lying prone on his bed, and the faint shadow of a cane's crook cast on his wall. Groaning in frustration, and resisting the urge to just move and hit the figure under the blankets, all Wilson could do was muster a yell.

"House!"

At this, the figure scrambled to sit upright, further entangling himself in the blankets as he did so. As House struggled to sit, Wilson finally flicked the light on, revealing the disheveled man that was occupying one of the last places that Wilson considered sacred.

Upon initial inspection, it appeared as though House was no different than usual. A wrinkled t-shirt clung to his body, and his always messy hair seemed ruffled even more from sleep upon Wilson's pillows. The bags under House's eyes weren't to be discounted as abnormal, although he wasn't exactly considered a man that struggled to find sleep on a regular basis. Wilson had seen it enough himself; House would either drink until he passed out on the couch, or downed a handful of Vicodin before letting himself fade into a drug induced stupor.

After a few blinks, Wilson was given a true clue that something was wrong. It all started when House opened his mouth and retorted as usual, although the usual harsh voice was softened.

"What, surprised to see me here, princess?" House said, but the usual flicker of annoyance in his blue eyes was gone, Wilson could see that. That was how he was usually able to tell when the ornery doctor was just pushing his buttons, even if it went as far as this. But instead of the usual sarcasm, all Wilson could hear was exhaustion. That didn't stop him from pursuing the usual course, however. He was exhausted, and had a right to find solace in his own home- he couldn't let House steal every piece of his sanity.

"Get out of my bed, right now, House. I need to sleep. I didn't see your bike out front, so how about this, I call you a cab, and you can go home, and let me sleep."

"But I don't want to go home" House replied quickly, his eyes flickering down to the sheets in a deflection that Wilson could only identify as one thing; shame. This was enough to shock him out of the anger that had been seeping into his heart the further he and his friend argued. There were many things House was, most of the words unsavory. But the one word that never described House, not one that Wilson had ever been able to apply, was shameful. To see this in his friend, here and now, made him soften, nearly as much as House had.

"Why don't you want to go home? Is there something wrong there?" he prompted, keeping a careful eye on House as he moved further into the bedroom, surveying the situation a bit further. Without so much as blinking, House gave a shrug that spoke of feigned nonchalance.

"It's just cold as hell in there. I haven't been paying the bills, they shut my electricity off last night, and it's cold as hell in there."

"Well, if it's a matter of money-" Wilson started, but he was abruptly cut off by an obviously disgruntled House.

"You know it's not a money issue. It's a me issue. I've either been too busy at the hospital, or too busy drinking myself to an early grave, to bother with the bills. I didn't want to spend hours doing that tonight, so I came here instead" House admitted, and the grating roughness that seemed to come from the back of his throat told Wilson that House was obviously upset about the whole situation. Shrugging with indifference, Wilson turned his back and yanked his shirt off, reaching into his dresser drawers for a sweatshirt that he could wear to bed.

He knew that House was one that never liked doing the small necessities in life, and it wasn't the first time that his electricity had been cut. As much of an intelligent adult as the doctor was, he was infantile in his avoidance of responsibility. Of course, there were few winter nights as cold as this, and Wilson could just imagine how cold that House's apartment was on this particular night. With his back still turned to House, Wilson pulled off his pants, and grabbed sweatpants from the same drawer, yanking them on over his legs.

"How about this. I'll get you a few blankets, and you can crash on my couch for the night. Tomorrow we'll go over to your place, and I'll make sure you make those calls, get those bills paid, and it'll be back on in no time. How does that sound?" Wilson prompted, turning back around to look at his friend. House stuck out his lower lip like a pouting child, which further eased Wilson's nerves. If House was acting like this, nothing could be too seriously wrong, and the annoyance began to return.

"I don't want to sleep on your couch" House said with furrowed brows, patting a hand down on Wilson's bed. "I want to sleep in your bed."

"House!" Wilson exclaimed in frustration, throwing his hands up in the air, rolling his eyes as he did so. "That is my bed, and I want you out of it. I am not your keeper. Just suck it up and go sit on the couch. You can even watch TV if you want. I'm tired, and I'm not going to put up with this tonight."

Silence spanned between them, and House did not speak. The pouting lip retreated, although his eyebrows only creased together further. What could have been a full minute passed between them, before House spoke again, this time, his eyes averted to the sheets.

"The electricity in my house is fine." He admitted, and Wilson could detect the shame in his voice. However, that didn't make Wilson's annoyance ebb, not for the moment it took him to respond.

"Then what the hell are you doing here?!" he asked again, eyes wide, hoping that maybe this time his friend would give him an answer. More silence, then an answer, soft and timid, came from House's lips.

"I was lonely, okay? I was lonely in my apartment. So lonely that it hurt. So I came here. I knew you'd be in here eventually."

This was enough to shock Wilson into stunned silence. House was never lonely, or at least, not so much so that he admitted it. There was no weakness that the man would admit to; on most days, House would rather claim he were a god than claim he had a weakness. So to see his friend and colleague sitting in his bed, weaker than ever before, Wilson couldn't do anything but stutter.

"Don't give me that pitiful look" House muttered, still refusing to meet Wilson's eyes. Wilson only shook his head, opening his mouth, formulating the best response he could manage as pain entered his heart.

"No, it's fine, House. Just tell me what you want me to do. If you're lonely, we can talk, alright? Do you want a drink?" Wilson offered, trying his best to offer any remedy to the pain that House was displaying. Wilson knew better than most how much it took for House to display any kind of emotion like this, so he was going to do his best to relieve the pain. He was a doctor and he was a fool, he was apt to help anything and anyone that was hurting, even if they were a bastard as messed up as House. After a moment, House responded, his voice level.

"I just want you to come and sleep too. That's it."

"Just… get in bed and sleep?" Wilson asked, trying to keep the shock from tainting his voice. Of course, he would have left it there, but House had burned a bad streak in him, one that always kept him asking more. Part of it was that he couldn't believe house was leaving himself this vulnerable, and part of it was that he was still expecting a punchline. However, he knew he was lying to himself as he stared into House's eyes. Unable to resist, despite all of this, he let a smart ass comment pass his lips.

"Whenever you were lonely, or wanted someone in your bed, I thought you just called a hooker or two." He regretted the words the instant they left his mouth, but he knew the damage was already done. House just sniffed and shook his head.

"You're not wrong, but I don't call them because I'm lonely. I get hookers when I'm bored. Haven't really thought about being lonely in a long time. Figured it would be better to spend the night with someone I care about" House responded, and to Wilson's surprise, there was no annoyance in his friend's tone. Even more surprising were the words that had left it. There had been possibly one other occasion that House had ever admitted to anyone that he cared about them.

Maybe it was because his leg was hurting more than usual. Maybe it was because he was tired and it was just about midnight. Whatever the cause, Wilson didn't know. But he wasn't about to abandon House in a moment of vulnerability like this, he wouldn't hurt his friend.

Of course, the thought of just climbing in bed and sleeping next to House wasn't exactly something that sat well in his stomach. Part of him was still expecting a punchline- a kick in the balls, a joke about balls, an insult to his manhood, or anything alone those lines. Deep down, he saw that House was sober, and the lack of light in his eyes was attributed to sadness.

"Alright, House" he relented, and went over to the wall, flicking the light out. His bed was easily big enough for two, but he hadn't ever shared it with a close friend, much less a man. But even through his discomfort, even through his reluctance, James Wilson knew that he was doing the right thing for House.

As soon as he had settled his head on his pillow, House slid back into the bed, pulling the sheets close around himself. Although this yanked the sheets from Wilson's own body, he wasn't about to start arguing with his friend. Thoughts were racing through his mind at the speed of fire, but he couldn't bring himself to voice any questions. There was enough space between him and House that he would grow comfortable eventually, as exhausted as he was.

The distance didn't last for long. House seemed to gradually shuffle his way closer and closer, until they were almost touching. House's head was close to Wilson's chest, but it was only when he was settled like this, their legs just barely brushing against each other, that House's breathing settled into a deep rhythm.

Wilson was too shocked for words, too breathless. There were few occasions where he had seen House get this close to a person, and to know that his friend, however much an ass he was, was sleeping beside him, filled him with sorrow. House must have been much more lost than he had admitted if this was the only thing that could soothe him- something that was previously inadmissible in any of their conversations.

It took more hours than Wilson would have liked to admit for him to fall asleep. House's breathing was steady through the night, his body still, and still so incredibly close. The words that had left his mouth filled Wilson's mind.

' _Figured it would be better to spend the night with someone I care about'_ was what he had said, words that Wilson knew he would never forget. As much as House pushed him to his limits, as much as that man drove him absolutely crazy, however much House screwed with him, Wilson knew that the bottom line was always the same. He cared about House, and even though he doubted it sometimes, House cared about him.

Eventually, Wilson had no choice other than to succumb to sleep, although a million questions and concerns for his friend were still racing through his head. But House had not stirred, and that was enough to leave Wilson content for the time being.

-H-O-U-S-E-

When Wilson woke to the whine of his alarm, he was alone in bed. The sheets were rumpled where House had been the night before, and the cane that had been resting against the wall was gone. By the cracked drawer, Wilson knew that House wasn't the only thing missing; a shirt of his was likely absent as well. All that he could bring himself to do was sigh, and rest his head back on his pillow. It was as though House had never been there, and he knew if he tried to talk to his friend about it at the office, all he would get was an endless wall of deflection.

In the end, the thought that House trusted him enough, and cared enough about him to come to him, would be satisfactory. To be friends with House was a constant struggle for Wilson, and the previous night somehow made the struggling worth it, if only for a little while.

As he pulled himself from bed, he smiled, still feeling the happiness that had overwhelmed him at House's admission of caring. Wilson realized that he needed nothing more, and at this moment in time, didn't need to ask anything more from House, as broken as that man was. To know that he cared would have to be enough. And for now, it was.

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read, I hope you enjoyed!**


End file.
